


Never Leave You Again

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Feels, Captivity, Don't worry no one is actually dead, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rescue Missions, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Tony Whump, background appearances of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce tried to move on, to live a "normal" life, whatever the hell that was. He wasn't fooling many though, least of all himself. He was hardly more than a shadow anymore, since Tony's funeral a year and a half ago. That is, until Natasha showed back up in his life, and he learned that the casket they buried that day was empty for a reason. Then it was like he couldn't move fast enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Leave You Again

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a tidy little drabble, but as always it got away from me. Written for my dearest jezi-belle, who prompted me "how about Tony is presumed dead, and months later after the big public funeral and all the heartache and Bruce barely hanging on, they find out he was captured somewhere and they bring him home."

“I’m sorry, my office hours are over,” Bruce mumbled, still shuffling his papers on his desk listlessly, never quite lifting his eyes higher than his rough hands and chewed nails.

“I think you’ll want to come in for this one, Doc,” said a soft voice, gentle and sympathetic. 

“I said you’ll have to come ba-“ Bruce started automatically, registering after the fact that he recognized that voice. He looked up in surprise, not caring about the dark bags under his eyes or the fact that he probably looked unwashed, underslept, and hungover. “Natasha? What are you doing here?” he asked, his brow pinching at the memory of the last time he saw her, more than a year ago. 

He had been packing his things. She asked him not to go, said that it was too soon, that he needed to grieve. He said there was no way he could stay there if they expected him to keep on living. To not lose control. She didn’t answer him, and he didn’t see her again. He never even looked back at the tower when he left; it just hurt too much.

So he took a job as a research admin at UCLA, as far as he could get from New York City. He kept his head down and almost never talked, deluding himself that if he just threw himself into work, he could forget, or heal, or whatever bullshit he told himself. And every day he died a little more, but never enough that he could hope for release. But he supposed it was better than going on the run with nothing to do except think about his pain. 

And he had to admit, maybe he _was_ moving on, just a little. He had smiled precisely two times since he’d moved; once at a particularly lovely sunset, and once when he bought cotton candy on a whim and got lost in a lovely memory of he and Tony sharing a cotton candy at a carnival for the first time, happily comparing it to fiberglass insulation as they ate. 

Although there was one time that he made the mistake of driving by 10880 Malibu Point. It was the worst kind of morbid curiosity that got the best of him on a day when his usual self-flagellation wasn’t enough. There appeared to be an enormous bite taken out of the cliff side, where Tony’s Malibu mansion used to be. Rebar and cables still trailed sadly from the rock, although the rubble had been cleared away. Weeds and grass had consumed the tennis court and the cracked, empty pit of a swimming pool. That was a dark day that Bruce didn’t like reliving any more than the day of Tony’s funeral.

Bruce shook himself out of his memories, dropping his papers and walking over to Natasha, who looked sad, but hopeful, and inexplicably impatient. 

“Nat, you know I don’t want any part of what you guys are doing. I’m done with that. I can’t-“ he started, but Natasha reached out and took both his hands, holding them firmly.

“Bruce. I know you never got closure. None of us did. We never stopped looking for him, even after the funeral,” she started, and Bruce stiffened, already pulling away.

“Don’t- don’t do this to me Nat, don’t bring this back up. I’ve been good. Quiet. I need. I need to move on. If you found something, I need…” Bruce pulled a hand away, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I need you to have someone else identify the body,” he finished quietly. Natasha pulled his hand back into hers.

“No, Bruce. We think we found him. _Alive_.”

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, looking at her and not understanding.

“W-what?”

“Tony. We think he’s alive. Captured. I thought you’d want to be the one to bring him in.”

Bruce’s heart pounded wildly in his ears, but he was in no danger of losing control. Not when he was consumed by single-minded determination.

“Where?” he said, his eyes wide as he gripped Natasha by the upper arms. “Nat, I swear to god, tell me you’re serious, tell me I’ll get him back, tell me _everything_.”

______________________

They didn’t need Hulk on this one. Bruce had enough blood in his eyes to take down an entire army with his bare, flesh-colored hands. And he damn near did. He rarely let himself be consumed by raw emotion like this, and the rest of his teammates cut him a wide, cautious berth, essentially letting him go into a berserker rage that had nothing to do with the other guy. Bruce figured it was about time they understood that Hulk wasn’t just his angry half, but that _all_ of him was his angry half. Hulk was just the only one who got to show it.

It took hours of scouring sub-basements and dizzying corridors that stretched for miles underground, until finally Steve smashed the bolt on one door to reveal a pitch-black, filthy, concrete room hardly larger than a closet, that reeked of an open sewer. Sam shined a light into the room in a quick sweep, and they all barely missed a pale foot as the light swept by. 

“Wait,” Bruce breathed sharply, grabbing Sam’s forearm and shining it back at the foot. Which was attached to a thin, pale leg. Which moved slightly, curling away from the light. 

“Jesus, he’s alive!” Sam hissed, as Natasha rushed to light a high-powered lamp. Bruce was far from a godly man, but he prayed as rushed into the room. He prayed with the shameless audacity of a godless sinner. They hadn’t found any prisoners yet that had been alive. Natasha set the lamp on the floor and it illuminated the room; featureless, except for what appeared to be a mostly-shredded blanket, a drain in the floor that was the source of the stench, and naked, emaciated man crawling weakly away from the light.

“ _Tony!_ ” Bruce choked out, falling to his knees and reaching out for Tony’s shoulders, carefully turning him so that he was cradled on Bruce’s lap. “Oh god, Tony, you’re alive…” Bruce cried freely, his fingertips shaking as they brushed over Tony’s sharp cheekbone.

Tony squinted and made a pained noise, shielding his eyes from the light, as though he’s spent the last year and a half solid in the dark.

“Bruce?” he rasped, frowning in confusion. He coughed wetly, and Bruce swallowed down rage and bile as Tony crumpled weakly in his arms, his body not strong enough to let him cough as hard as he needed. And god, his _body_ … Tony was covered in wounds; some fresh and seeping, some infected and disgusting, most puckered pink with scarring. His arc reactor was hardly more than a feeble glow, barely visible in the dark room.

“I’m here, sweetheart, we’re all here. We’re going to bring you home safe and sound,” Bruce soothed quietly, while Sam unpacked a field first aid kit. Tony smiled up at Bruce, haze and fever clouding his eyes, but his smile was small, and more importantly, real.

“You’re late,” Tony mumbled, and Bruce barked a rough, tearful laugh, wrapping Tony up and hugging him as hard as he dared. 

“God, Tony… I thought you were dead,” Bruce whispered against Tony’s dirty, matted hair. Tony clutched at his shirt, as though afraid Bruce might be a dream. Bruce wondered how many times Tony had had a fever dream about being rescued, and his heart ached.

“Was my funeral good?” Tony asked blearily, his voice muffled against Bruce’s shirt, and Bruce couldn’t believe the little hint of a smile in Tony’s rough voice. “Did everyone cry?”

“There wasn’t a dry eye in the place,” Bruce promised, hardly getting the words out through his own tears. “The whole world cried for you, Tony.” He felt a cool hand against his cheek.

“Well I’m back,” Tony whispered. "Guess I'm not done pissing people off..." He smiled tiredly up at Bruce, as Sam and Natasha pulled him away to clean what wounds they could. Bruce held his hand the whole time while Tony drifted in and out, and insisted on carrying him all the way back to the quinjet, after a brief argument with Steve. Tony was too light, too thin, and shivered too much, even wrapped in the solar blanket. And Bruce never let him go. He’d never let him go again.

___________________________

“You really weren’t kidding, this _is_ obnoxious,” Tony said, impressed as he looked up at the gaudy marble monument of Iron Man soaring through the sky, which marked his gravesite. He scuffed at the meticulously manicured grass with his toe. “So what’s buried here?” Bruce held Tony’s hand tightly, their fingers laced. It was a lot easier to be at the cemetery and appreciate the irony when Tony was alive and well and standing right beside him, if not a little too thin and perhaps a lot too haunted.

“An empty casket. Pepper said the PR people thought it would settle the public perception if they saw a burial. Give closure.” He reached out and brushed a finger over Tony’s name, carved elegantly into the marble, which appeared as soft and supple as draped silk. “Lot of good that did for the rest of us,” he snorted quietly.

“Hey. I’m here now. And I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you guys,” Tony said, turning and pulling Bruce close. “I love you so much. So much, Bruce. If something ever happens to me again, I guess it’s happening to both of us, because I’m never letting you out of arm’s reach for the rest of my hopefully very long and boring life.”

Bruce just buried his face against Tony’s neck. 

“Tony, I love you. I’m absolutely nothing without you. I-I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner,” he whispered. Tony kissed his jaw, a quiet, private smile on his lips, just for Bruce.

“You got there right on time, honey. But… maybe just a _little_ late,” Tony murmured, and he met Bruce’s watery smile with a soft kiss of his own.


End file.
